Chapter 17: One Step Ahead

The morning light cut across the room in thin, sharp lines, spilling through the half-closed blinds. Taylor was still curled up beside me, her hair a messy halo against the pillow, one arm draped lazily over the blanket like the night hadn't touched her at all.

For a moment, I just lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, feeling the weight of exhaustion still heavy in my own body. My cheek still ached, the bruise tender beneath my skin, but that wasn't what kept me awake.

It was the heaviness in my chest. The kind that didn't come from bruises or broken skin—it came from fear. From the way I'd let it live inside me for too long.

I was done. Done being scared. Done running away. Done waiting for someone else to protect me, to fix the things I didn't dare to face.

Because hiding hadn't saved me. Keeping quiet hadn't saved me. All it had done was give Jackson more room to breathe in my life, more chances to twist the knife.

I'd been protected—by Conrad, by Jeremiah, by Steven, by everyone but myself. And yet, I was still the one lying in bed with a bruise blooming on my face, the one feeling like prey in my own story.

That thought burned.

Maybe it was because of the way Conrad had left me on the dance floor. Maybe it was because of the endless ache of feeling like second best. Or maybe it was simply because I'd had enough. But for the first time, the fear wasn't stronger than me.

It was time to step up. To stop letting Jackson write chapters in my life that never belonged to him.

Because today, Jackson's story ends. 

And I was the one who was going to end it.

I turned my head, looking at Taylor's sleeping face, and a quiet determination settled over me. Her eyes fluttered open suddenly, catching me off guard. She blinked at me, groggy, then smirked.

"Wow. The first thing I wake up to is you staring at me. Should I be flattered or freaked out?"

I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth tugged up despite everything. "Relax. I wasn't staring. Just... thinking."

She stretched with a dramatic yawn. "Mhm. Thinking. Sure. You looked one bad angle away from sketch-artist level focus."

This time I laughed, small but real, and she grinned, clearly proud of herself.

We got up, brushed our teeth, and padded down the hall toward the kitchen. The house was unusually quiet for once, sunlight spilling lazily through the windows and warming the hardwood floor beneath our feet.

Taylor headed straight for the fridge, rummaging like she owned the place, while I leaned against the counter, arms crossed. The smell of coffee from the pot Jeremiah must've made earlier still lingered in the air.

"Breakfast of champions," Taylor announced, pulling out a half-empty carton of orange juice and a box of leftover pastries someone had shoved onto the bottom shelf.

I smirked faintly, grabbing a plate and setting it on the counter. "Gourmet."

"Hey, don't knock it," she shot back, pouring juice into two mismatched mugs like it was champagne. "We've survived on worse."

I let out a quiet laugh, but inside, my chest was tight. Sitting here, pretending to have a normal morning, almost felt like a lie.

Because no matter how normal this looked, I knew what I had to do today.

The sound of footsteps creaked on the stairs, voices trickling into the kitchen. Jeremiah stumbled in first, hair sticking up in every direction, followed by Steven, yawning like he hadn't slept in years.

And then them.

Conrad, quiet as always, his eyes scanning the room before landing briefly—too briefly—on me. Belly trailing just behind him, her hand brushing against the doorframe like she wasn't sure if she belonged here.

The easy air I'd managed to hold onto with Taylor evaporated in an instant. My chest tightened, the bruise on my cheek suddenly throbbing again under the weight of their presence.

Before anyone could say anything, I pushed back from the counter, forcing a small smile. "I'm gonna... go change."

I slipped past them quickly, catching the faint shift in Conrad's expression—like he wanted to stop me, to say something—but I didn't give him the chance. My legs carried me up the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding until I shut the door to my room behind me.

...

Upstairs, my room felt colder than it should have. Maybe it was just me—the way the silence pressed in, the way the air seemed to hang heavier when I was alone with my thoughts.

I caught my reflection in the mirror. The faint bruise across my cheek, the shadow under my eyes, the curve of my mouth set in something between defiance and exhaustion. For a moment, I didn't even recognise myself.

This was the girl who had been chased, cornered, and hurt. Who had let fear dictate every step. Who had stood there waiting to be protected, instead of protecting herself.

And I was done with her.

My hand shook as I grabbed my phone, but I didn't let myself hesitate. Not this time. With a few swipes, I unblocked Jackson's number. The screen stared back at me, waiting.

My thumbs moved before my brain could talk me out of it:

If you're still in Cousins, can you meet me in two hours at the beach?

The reply came almost instantly.

I knew you'd come back to me. I'll be there.

My stomach turned, heat rushing into my chest, but I didn't let myself flinch. Instead, I set the phone down on the dresser, grabbed fresh clothes, and started getting ready. Each piece of fabric felt like armour, a small reminder that this time, I was walking into it on my terms.

When I was done, I slid the phone back into my pocket and opened the door slowly, listening for voices downstairs. Muffled laughter drifted up, a mix of Jeremiah and Steven bickering over something stupid, Belly chiming in softly. I waited until it rose louder—until I knew no one would hear me—before I slipped down the back steps.

Thanks to Conrad, I'd gotten good at sneaking out. Funny how the lessons he'd taught me would end up being used against him.

Once I hit the driveway, I pulled out my phone, thumbs flying across the screen.

Stay close to your phone today. Don't ask questions and don't say anything to the others, yet. Pleaseeee.x

Taylor's reply came seconds later, buzzing in my palm:

Steph?? What are you doing??

I didn't answer.

The phone rang once, then again. I silenced it both times, slipping it into my pocket as I kept walking.

Because if she heard my voice—if anyone did—I'd lose my nerve.

And I couldn't afford to. Not today.

... 

The sand was cool under my feet, damp from the tide that had only just pulled back. The beach was empty, save for the gulls overhead screeching as if they knew something I didn't. Usually, Cousins in the morning carried a kind of peace, a hush that felt like safety. But today it felt sharp, restless, like the whole shoreline was holding its breath.

I sat near the dunes, phone heavy in my hand, the screen lighting up every few minutes with Taylor's name. Answer me. Where are you?. Each vibration made my chest ache, but I couldn't bring myself to reply. Not yet.

Instead, I dug my heels into the sand, grounding myself, trying to still the shaking in my hands. I'd chosen this. I'd chosen to face him. That had to mean something.

The minutes crawled, each one stretching too long. I watched the tide creep closer, the waves licking up the beach and erasing every footprint left behind. The sight snagged at me—proof that even the heaviest marks could be wiped away. Maybe this was my chance to do the same.

I checked the time again. Two minutes had passed when I told him to meet me. A rush of hope flared—maybe he wouldn't show, maybe he'd decided to let me go.

Then I heard it. Footsteps in the sand.

Pressure climbed up my chest because I knew without looking who it was.

BACK AT THE HOUSE  

The kitchen was quieter than usual, just the clink of spoons and the hum of the fridge filling the silence.

Taylor kept glancing at her phone, refreshing it like something new might pop up if she just stared hard enough. Finally, she broke the quiet.

"Guys... I'm worried about Stephanie."

That made a few heads lift. Steven frowned around his cereal, Belly blinked, and Conrad turned slowly from the counter, coffee mug still in his hand.

"Why?" he asked, his voice low but sharp. "What happened? Where is she?"

Taylor let out a frustrated sigh. "That's the thing—I don't know. She told me to keep my phone close this morning, but she didn't tell me why. And it's been almost two hours, and she still hasn't contacted me."

Belly frowned, her spoon paused halfway to her mouth. "That... doesn't sound like her."

Steven tried to lighten the mood, but his voice cracked a little. "Maybe she's just out walking or something?"

But Conrad wasn't looking at him. His jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on Taylor. "If she told you to keep your phone close, then she's not just out for a walk."

Taylor's grip on her phone tightened. "Exactly."

The room went tense, heavy with unspoken worry.

Steven leaned back in his chair, spoon clattering against his bowl. "Okay, so... if she's not here, where would she go? You two—" he looked at Belly and Conrad, "—you know her better than the rest of us. Any ideas?"

Belly shook her head, lips pressed tight. "She hasn't really said much to me about where she goes."

All eyes shifted to Conrad. He hesitated, his fingers tightening around his mug, knuckles whitening. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, reluctant.

"When she needs space... she likes going to the beach."

Taylor froze. Her heart jumped into her throat, and she pushed back from the table so fast her chair screeched. "The beach. Oh my God—"

Belly frowned. "Taylor, what?"

"That's it," Taylor said, her voice sharp with urgency. "That's where she is. She told me to keep my phone close, but never said why. And if she's gone quiet this long..." She swallowed hard. "She's with him. She has to be."

Conrad's brow furrowed, his voice low but sharp. "What do you mean, Taylor? With who?"

Taylor's eyes flicked to him, wide, panicked, but she didn't answer. Not with words. Instead, she shoved back her chair so hard it nearly toppled, her breath catching in her throat.

"Taylor—" Belly started, confused.

But Taylor was already moving, storming out the door like her only thought was getting to me.

Conrad's chair scraped against the floor a split second later. He didn't hesitate. He was on his feet, following her without a backwards glance, the tension in his shoulders making it clear he already feared the answer.

AT THE SAME TIME AT THE BEACH 

 My pulse thrummed hard in my throat as I spotted him by the water's edge, hands shoved in his pockets like he had all the time in the world.

Jackson.

The smirk spread across his face the second his eyes found mine. "Knew it," he said, voice slick with triumph. He stepped toward me, slow and sure. "I told myself you'd come back. Didn't matter how long it took—you'd find your way back to me eventually."

I forced myself not to move, not to flinch. My arms folded across my chest, the only barrier I had. "Step back, Jackson."

He laughed, the sound sharp, grating. "Step back? Baby, don't play. You and I—we've always had something real. You think they get you the way I do? That they know how to take care of you?"

The words made my skin crawl. I swallowed hard, my voice steady even as my hands shook. "You don't get to say that. Not after what you did."

His eyes darkened, jaw ticking. He stepped closer, close enough now that I could smell the faint mix of salt and smoke clinging to him. "You're scared. That's all this is. Scared, confused... but you'll remember. You'll see." His voice dropped lower, like a secret. "You still belong to me. Why else would you text me to come meet you?"

My stomach twisted, but I held his gaze. "No, Jackson. I don't. Not anymore. Not ever again."

Something shifted in his expression then—anger cracking through the smugness, quick and violent. His hand twitched like he was about to reach for me.

And that was the cue.

"Sir! Step away from her!"

The shout came from behind, sharp and commanding. Two officers emerged from the shadows of the dunes, their presence sudden, solid, and undeniable.

Jackson froze, his head snapping toward them. "What the—"

I took a step back, my chest heaving, the weight of it all crashing over me. My voice was barely a whisper, but it carried. "I was one step ahead this time."

His eyes darted between me and the officers, panic slipping through the cracks of his bravado for the first time.

"Sir, I said step away!" one of the officers barked again, hand hovering near his belt.

Jackson's jaw clenched, fury flashing hot in his eyes—but there was nowhere left to run.

The second the cuffs clicked around his wrists, relief hit me like air after being underwater too long. I stood there, watching as the officers walked him away, his voice fading into nothing.

And that's when I let myself breathe.

The truth was, this was never spontaneous. The reason I told him to meet me two hours after I'd texted? Because in those two hours, I went to the police. I sat down, told them everything, and together we staged this. They were waiting. And now, it was done. They'd arrest him, question him, and I'd finally be free of the weight he'd wrapped around my life.

I then sank onto the sand. Right where the waves broke against the shore. The water rushed over my clothes, cold and insistent, but I didn't care. The sound of the ocean drowned out everything else, and for the first time in weeks, I felt relief wash through me.

I needed it.

And then—behind me, I heard a voice. Low, ragged, but unmistakable.

"There she is."

I felt arms wrap tight around me from behind. "God, we thought something happened to you, dummy," Taylor breathed into my hair, her voice shaky even as she tried to play it off with a tease.

I let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding. "Well... something did happen." I tilted my head, meeting her eyes. "Jackson's arrested."

Her arms tightened for a beat, a small gasp escaping her, but it was Conrad's reaction that pulled me. He sank beside me in the sand, his suit pants soaking without a care, and when I turned, I caught it—his smile. Wide, unguarded, proud. The biggest I'd ever seen on him.

Taylor noticed, too, of course. She smirked, nudging him with her elbow. "Careful, Fisher. You're drooling."

Colour rose faintly in his cheeks, but the smile didn't falter. Not until his gaze locked with mine again, all the pride softening into something heavier. Something raw.

"What happened?" His voice was low, urgent. "How did you... How did you do it?"

Taylor's brows furrowed as she slid down to sit in the sand, too, still clutching my hand. "Yeah, Steph—what the hell? One minute you vanish, the next you're dropping bombshells about him being arrested. Start talking."

I stared at the waves, the foam curling around my ankles, letting the roar of the ocean buy me a moment. My throat tightened, and for a while, I didn't answer.

Conrad leaned in, his knee brushing mine, his tone sharper now. "Stephanie."

I swallowed hard, finally turning to meet both of their eyes. "I... I went to the police station this morning. Reported him. Told them everything. The texts, the calls, what happened at the dance." My voice wavered, but I pressed on. "They told me if I could get him to show up somewhere, they'd be there. Waiting."

Taylor's jaw dropped. "You—holy shit, Steph." She squeezed my hand tighter, her voice half a whisper, half a shout. "You actually set him up."

Conrad's expression shifted, pride colliding with something harsher. His hand clenched in the sand. "You did all of that... alone?"

I gave the faintest shrug, trying to hold myself together. "It had to end. I couldn't keep waiting for someone else to fight my battles. Not anymore."

The silence after that was heavy, only the sound of the waves filling it.

Conrad's jaw flexed, but it wasn't anger I found in his eyes—it was something else entirely. Relief. Admiration. A kind of quiet awe that made my heart flutter.

"You're stronger than you know," he said softly, his voice almost carried away by the surf. His hand brushed lightly over mine, tentative but steady. "Stronger than any of us ever gave you credit for."

I blinked at him, stunned by the weight of his words, by the sincerity etched into every line of his face.

Taylor let out a laugh that cracked in the middle, wiping quickly at her eyes. "Damn right she is. My girl just went full CSI: Cousins Beach and took down her stalker ex. That's queen behaviour."

Despite everything, a shaky laugh slipped out of me, and Conrad's lips twitched into a smile again—smaller this time, but softer, warmer.

The ocean kept rolling in, steady and endless, and for the first time in weeks, I let myself believe it: maybe I wasn't just surviving anymore. Maybe I'd finally started to take my life back.

Conrad pushed himself to his feet, then held out a hand to me. His grip was firm, grounding, pulling me up from the wet sand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Come on," he said, brushing his damp palms against his pants but keeping his eyes on me. "Let's go tell the others. And tonight..." His mouth curved, the barest ghost of a smile tugging at the corners. "Tonight we celebrate."

Taylor let out a sharp laugh, clapping a hand to her chest in mock shock. "Wow, Fisher. That might actually be the best thing you've ever said."

He rolled his eyes at her, but I caught the way his gaze flicked back to me, softening instantly, like the words hadn't been meant for anyone else but me.

It was about time I did it. I'd been wrong to stay quiet, to think I could outrun him instead of going to the police the moment he first laid his hands on me. I should've ended this sooner. But I hadn't. And now I finally had. For good.